


The History of British Birds

by JustSemiotics



Series: The Interior Design of 221b BakerStreet [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSemiotics/pseuds/JustSemiotics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before John, there was the skull.<br/>Before the skull, there was the void.<br/>Before the void, there was the macaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The History of British Birds

„Corpse.“, the bird utters solemnly and hacks and picks at Sherlock´s hands as they are fluttering through the air.

„Yes, exactly!“ An absent hand stops long enough to stroke the soft feathers on the macaw´s back.

„Corpse?“, it repeats and bents its neck enquiringly. 

„They should have let me have a look at it! It wasn´t an accident or an allergic reaction. All the signs are clearly pointing towards murder!“

The hands look like wings of their own now, flying all around the large creature perched on Sherlock´s shoulder. The macaw isn´t flustered by such a behaviour and gently pecks at Sherlock´s cheek, as if nudging him to go on. 

„Stupid idiots! Imbeciles!“ 

„Imbeciles!“, the macaw replies, mirroring the indignation and the slight lisps in its voice. It revels in the strokes on its back and then hastily trips from one claw to the other trying to regain the balance on the small shoulder, as the human abruptly stands up and begins pacing the room. 

„Even you are moderately more intelligent than the whole of Scotland Yard! And you are a bird!“ 

„Imbeciles!“, the macaw tries again. Sherlock smiles and suddenly there´s a peanut appearing in one tiny palm and the bird marches his way down the outstretched arm. 

The door jerks open with a loud exclamation of: „Sherlock, please do me a favour and don´t tell mummy anything about-“. 

At the sight of their common archenemy the macaw jumps onto Sherlock head, tightly gripping the dark curls with its claws.

„Get out! We hate you!“ Sherlock shrieks, trying to pick the bird from his curls. But the grip on his hair tightens even more. When the older boy makes another step in Sherlock´s direction the bird claws so hard in Sherlock´ s hair both of them are shrieking and shouting. 

„Sherlock, please-“, 

At the sound of Mycroft´s voice the macaw startles, spreading his wings and violently draws away, taking a bundle of dark locks with him. From his new post on the curtain rails he peers down, ready to attack, a sight to behold and to persuade the enemy of a hasty retreat. As soon as the door snaps shut, Sherlock sinks down to the floor, clutching his head and rubbing the sensitive spot where the hairs have been ripped out. He hears an echo of his own whimper and finds the macaw gently picking at his knee, a look of kindness and understanding in his round eyes. 

Finally the bird points his head in the direction of the door, where Mycroft has left. 

„Corpse?“, it asks. 

And Sherlock can´t stop laughing. Throughout the next days he starts to giggle every time he remembers the look of mischief in his friends eyes. 

The incident leaves Sherlock with a permanent bald spot on his head. As he is concious about his appearence, he never leaves the house without a hat or a cap. He keeps them on in class and if that is not possible, he sits at the back end of the room. The others mock him for the hats and the caps and his weird behaviour. It is acceptable, as long as they don´t mock him for the wound his friend has inflicted on him. And secretly he is proud of this hole. It reminds him that such a wild creature once sought refuge in his presence.

As an adult the gap doesn´t really show since the curls around it have grown thick and dark. But if you let your hand wander through Sherlock´s hair and brush and flatten the curls and gently caress the scalp, then you will find that spot where the hair refused to grow back. 

\----------------------------

„Why are there so many books on birdkeeping in our bookshelves, Sherlock? Do you plan on introducing some rare species to our flat? Honestly, they wouldn´t survive the London winter.“ 

Sherlock knows that John doesn´t expect a reaction. The muttering just seems to be an apt way of keeping him entertained while doing such mundane things as cleaning. And so Sherlock doesn´t answer, although he could explain to John how a rare species can survive the cold in an unnatural habit if it is just cared for enough. 

\----------------------------

The macaw watches the book in Sherlock´s lap and the pages with rapt fascination. It only turns its head slightly as a vial appears between long and slender fingers and is spun around. Hoping for a treat, the bird tries to march down the arm, but is shushed back to his spot on the shoulder by impatient hands. There is the click of the vial and the macaw wonders why the body under him is trembling. Sounds escape the human that the creature has never heard before. It listens intensely and tries to imitate the soft little gulps and the sharp intake of air and the manic giggles that follow. Used to his friend´s antics, the bird isn´t startled too much when Sherlock stands up, flailing his arms in the air, sputtering deductions as fast as possible. 

„It all makes sense and, oh, I can see what everyone else has missed and it is so beautiful and now I can exactly explain how she gained access to the house and the picture in the attic and it was of course the housemaid why else would she where her cuffs up her sleeve and everything makes sense and I never want to stop thinking like this.“ 

Sherlock twirls around in the room, a dance for the two of them, only stopping to catch his breath for a second. 

„It is so bright right now in my brain and I can see every corner and oh, what a great plan of the maid, really, everything falls into place, of course she´d use the chinese sauce and I can´t believe everyone looked at the picture and simply overlooked it and it´s so good to have that place in my head and to see how everything just fits toghether and everything is so clean and white and calm and so beautiful and simply amazing!“ 

„Amazing!“, the macaw shouts, sounding every bit as exicted as the boy under him. 

\-----------------------------

Sherlock wants to tell John about the macaw and is at the same time afraid to do so, because having a bird as one´s only companion throughout childhood surely is a bit not good? He has placed the pictures in the cabinet, but John never asks why they are there, he just occassionally dusts them. 

\-----------------------------

When Sherlock moves to university, despite his best efforts (and despite Mycroft´s meddling, he supposes), he isn´t allowed to take a pet with him. He can´t explain that the macaw isn´t a pet but a need and so he doesn´t even try. There is no one to talk to and the spot at the back of his head grows larger and dugs into the inside of his skull. It´s an unforgiving void that needs to be filled and the lessons and the books and the beauty of thinking aren´t enough. The vials are pouring into it and filling it to the brim and sometimes if they overflow he hears shrieking and croaking: Corpse. Amazing. Imbeciles. 

He must have told Victor about the macaw, maybe on the day Mycroft deigns to inform him that mummy has given the bird to some distant cousin. She couldn´t stand its shouts and its constant calling for Sherlock anymore, it seems. Some days later Victor appears in his room and tosses some pages at Sherlock, who peers at them cautiously. Ripped out from an old (and valuable) book, Victor´s department, stumbled upon it during his History of Biology course, obviously. 

The first is a rough graphite sketch of a macaw peering from the branch of a tree, slightly cocking his head as if listening to something. Sherlock turns the second page in his hands.

„I understand the macaw, but why the carrier pigeon?“, he finally asks.

Victor shrugs his shoulders. „Reminded me of you.“

„A pigeon? Why, pray, would you compare me with such a common bird as the columba livia domestica?“

„Don´t know. Maybe not you. Just thought you´d like it.“ 

Sherlock doesn´t remember framing the pages, so maybe that was Victor´s doing too, but he kept them throughout his various flats. 

\------------------------------

„Sherlock?“ John´s hand stills in his hair. „Are you getting bald?“ 

He turns his head at the mocking tone and finds Johns eyes gleaming with kindness and mirth. John´s thumb brushes over his scalp, the skin a bit rough in the spot where there is no hair to protect it. 

And Sherlock smiles and closes his eyes. And if someone would listen closely, they would hear a sound like a soft shriek.

\-------------------------------

Before John, there was the skull. 

Before the skull, there was the void. 

Before the void, there was the macaw.

**Author's Note:**

> I This was written for and inspired by the wonderful mid0nz and the challenge on tumblr: http://mid0nz.tumblr.com/post/60933582130/mid0nzs-bbc-sherlock-writing-contest-about-1st  
> Obviously I had to choose the macaw! I know I´d write a little something about it, the moment we´d discovered it! 
> 
> II The part where the macaw grips Sherlock´s hair so tightly that it leaves a bald spot? Yeah, that happened to my friend - his hair never grew back quite right...


End file.
